I thought I might die.
Now, I think that several times a day when my body is completely rebelling against anything and everything I want it to do, but this time, I really thought it might actually be a possibility.
Probably only a tenth of a mile into the hike, my body questioned my brain's sanity and my spirit's stubbornness. I most likely was more than a bit overzealous in my decision to hike up West Rattlesnake Mountain. It's only a mile from the trailhead to the top - no big deal until I remembered and experienced how labor-intensive crutching up steep hills and giant stair-like projections is. Couple that with intense pain from merely trying to breathe, thanks to costochondritis, and this hike wasn't shaping up quite the way I'd imagined.
Kathy, one of Camp Calumet's staff that was co-leading the hike, stayed with me, mercifully assuring me that there was no need for her to hike ahead with the others, as I'd suggested. She helped me control my breathing as best I could and reassured me that she was fine going at whatever pace I needed.
At the trailhead, there had been a pile of rocks, with a sign encouraging hikers to take one and carry it a half mile up the mountain to deposit it in a blue bucket. I took a small rock and stowed it in my bag. As we continued up the trail, I looked out for this halfway point. By the time we reached the place to deposit the stones, I was convinced there was no way I was making it to the top. That half mile seemed like ten miles. My body was screaming, I couldn't catch my breath. Yet I propelled myself on.
Three years ago I made that hike twice - for the first time as the weekly hike during week 1 at Camp Calumet. The second time on our way to Columbus Day Weekend at Camp Calumet. The second time was much different than the first. I had taken the last dose of my PsA medication in order to undergo testing for neurological symptoms I was experiencing...waiting to find out if it was caused by any of the possibilities I was given at the time - brain tumor or multiple sclerosis among them. I was struggling to get the left side of my body to function. I dragged myself up that mountain, determined to see the beautiful fall foliage view from the top, certain this would be the last time I'd be physically capable of making it up that mountain.
And so I journeyed on, my arms and legs propelling me closer to the top with each step. I constantly thought about just sitting down, resting, and waiting to join the rest of the group as they descended, yet my body kept going. The moment I realized that the top was in sight filled my heart with gratitude. As I sat - finally - at the top, beautiful views spread out before me, I couldn't speak. The beauty in that moment came not from the sparking lakes down below, but in the kindness and mercy shown to me every step of my way up; in the sight of my crutches leaned up against a rock; in knowing what I had to mentally, emotionally, and physically overcome to get there; and in that my husband was right there by my side, his confidence in me much stronger than my own.